Stealing Liberty
by Arukewari
Summary: Harry doesn't believe he can win the coming battle alone, so decides to enlist the help of a determined blond to build an army worthy of destroying the Dark Lord. Draco/ Harry


**Stealing Liberty**

**Summary: Harry doesn't believe he can win the coming battle alone, so decides to enlist the help of a determined blond to build an army worthy of destroying the Dark Lord. Draco/ Harry**

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. **

**Warning: This story is m-rated for a reason, and while I will give warning in the chapter heading and things won't be too explicit, be warned and don't sue**

* * *

"24 years old, muggle, died in a car accident a couple of hours ago."

Harry glanced at the grainy picture in his hands. Stern frown, strong jaw.

"Will he be recognised?"

"Of course not sir, we only ever take orphans and prisoners with no family ties." _People who wouldn't be missed_, Harry added in his head.

"We pride ourselves in the fact that there hasn't been a single incident or complaint from our customers. Taking men and women exclusively from the muggle world probably had a lot to do with that," the shopkeeper continued conversationally as he stacked potions and colourful vials in a bag. "I personally chose this one for you sir. Would you like to see him?"

Harry nodded and followed the man down the corridor. The walls resembled soaked bread and Harry could almost _see_ the smell of rotten eggs and urine leached into them.

"Here we are."

The clattering of keys echoed in the narrow pathway that once housed sewage from the toilets above. The door he opened was metallic, expansive, and the only sign that this place was frequented.

Two steps across the waxed floor, and Harry was reminded of St Mungo's. The acidic smell, the polished grey cupboards, the blinding light… square drawers lay on top of one another across the four walls, from floor to ceiling. Each were bare but for a horizontal handle and a carefully printed number.

"Aha!" The kneeled man exclaimed, from the other side of the room, and tapped at the drawer marked _158_. "Here's your man."

Harry tried to stop the horror that washed over him from showing on his face, and succeeded, but for the small moue of disgust that curved his mouth. Breathing through parted lips, Harry examined the dead man, hating how peaceful he looked, even with the angry red mark of chains marring his wrist and neck.

Harry nodded. "Fine. When can I take him?"

"As soon as you want."

"Straight away then," Harry said, as we took out the case that held his Galleons from his coat pocket and placed it at his feet. It expanded as soon as it hit the ground.

"Now, with the 30 vials that will be… 54, 800 Galleons," he said briskly, closing a lid over the dead man. "Would you like it delivered?"

"No, thank you." Harry tapped at the box. "_Reducio_."

Pocketing the shrunken coffin, Harry swallowed to dislodge the disgust and pity that had manifested as a ball in his throat. No matter how much he tried to pretend his parcel was just that, a parcel, he couldn't forget that there was a dead man in his pocket. That it was a criminal was beside the point.

"Thank you for shopping with us," the shopkeeper said with a brilliant and completely insincere smile. "And if there is anything more we can do for you, or if there are any problems at all, do not hesitate to contact us."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary."

By the time he walked out of the hidden, trap door that was the entrance, the rain had stuttered to a stop and its lingering smell invaded his nostrils. Seeing the bulging, black clouds that were heading his way, ready to burst its content on his head, Harry hurried onto his next destination. His tongue felt swollen, and his heart thudded with a staccato beat that had nothing to do with his brisk pace.

_It was here_, Harry thought, _the day and battle I have spent months planning_.

The dominos had all been carefully positioned in a line weaving towards the end of Lord Voldemort, and the dead man in his pocket was proof that he had just knocked over the first piece. The ball was rolling, and there was no turning back.

His feet took him through the Lobby of 'The Four Seasons', empty of muggles at this time of night and led him up the stairs, into the room he had reserved for the week. Only when he heard the resounding click of the lock barricading the door shut, did Harry let himself crumple to the floor. Head on tucked knees, he sat with his back to the door.

"Breathe," he whispered, feeling the breath of his exhale caress his face as it floated in the cocoon of his arms. "Breathe."

After a few minutes of the gentle mantra, Harry stood and reached for the coffin. As soon as it enlarged, he undid the clasp and let the lid swing on its hinge and drop to the other side. With a ragged breath, he took a blue covered vial from his recent purchase.

Remembering every step of the incantation from his countless practise sessions, Harry removed his wand from its holster and drew the first set of patterns over the man's face, counting each twist and flick of his wand. Dropping a drop of potion onto his lips, Harry sighed in relief as it turned blue with barely contained magic.

And so he continued, a flick of his wand and a drop of potion, in a repeated, trained fashion until sweat dripped down his hairline and his glasses threatened to slip off from the slippery bridge of his nose.

_Remember Harry, _he could hear his mentor's voice in his head. _Each step is vital, don't give up until that last drop of potion falls on your lips._

With a determined frown, he stared at the vial. While he had practised the theory many times, never had he used the real potion nor an actual body.

What if it went horribly wrong?

Before he could doubt himself any longer, Harry licked the final drop of potion from the gaping head of the vial and enunciated,

"And to you, the Heavens and the Hells, I bind."

* * *

When his eyes opened, he was lying on the floor staring up at the ceiling. Lifting his head, he groaned at the strain it put on his neck, then turned his head…

And saw his 16 years old body, unconscious, on the floor.

_It worked,_ he thought incredulously as he stared. _Soul transfer! His mentor had been right_.

Even knowing that without a new face, a new identity, he couldn't possibly gain the trust of older men and women who had experienced more than he could ever imagine, he had doubted the validity of this method until now. Transferring his thoughts, mind and soul into an undistinguished dead man? Bizarre, and obviously impossible.

_Clearly not_, Harry thought as he reached for his new face and felt the strong jaw he had seen on the picture and the thick brows. Short hair pricked his fingertips as he smoothed a hand over his scalp.

_How averse are you to Dark Magic?_ He remembered his mentor saying over the whispering leaves of the forest canopy.

_Not at all, _he had said. Not since he had seen Sirius, the only father he had ever known, fall through the veil and succumb to death. Lying in the dingy cupboard all those months ago, the thought of defeating Voldemort alone made a hollow, humourless laugh escape his tight chest. But his mentor had given him an alternative to fighting alone.

And together they had made a ludicrous plan that just might work. If only he could get a certain blond to cooperate.

* * *

"Draco Malfoy."

The young man he had spent the better half of his life hating, glanced at him with a well-practised sneer splattered across his pointy face. The haunted look in his eyes reminded Harry that this grown boy was not the child who had made his life miserable and what lay beneath the cold exterior were shattered fragments of a bleeding soul.

"I'm Alec."

"Pleasure," his voice dripped with sarcasm.

But even with that sneer, Harry saw the slight widening of his eyes and the spark of curiosity his name had instilled. So his infrequent, but well-timed letters had been received, and so had the subtle hints of change and endless possibilities that he had weaved into his paragraphs. Hopefully it would be enough to convince him to listen.

"I need to talk to you," Harry said, then pointedly glanced behind Draco where a wide-arching corridor housed potentially dangerous eavesdroppers. "Care for a walk?"

Draco's gaze flitted down the length of his body, seizing him up, and Harry worried that he wasn't going to take the bait.

"I'll get my coat."

The worry lifted before it had time to settle, and Harry turned his back to the Manor and started off when he felt Malfoy's presence behind him. As soon as the gate shut behind him, Harry picked up the pace.

"What do you want from me?"

His shoulders tensed at the brusque demand, only thinly veiled as a question. From his observations, Malfoy had been cowered into taking orders instead of giving them this summer, but clearly Harry had wrongly assumed that this applied to anyone but Voldemort and the inner circle. He had been hoping there wouldn't be any questions until they had arrived at the safe house.

"I'll tell you when we get there."

Malfoy stopped in his track and crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me."

Harry sighed and turned to face him. To be fair, things had been going far too smoothly. More resistance had been anticipated when he had decided to enrol the help of this somewhat volatile Death Eater in training.

_Not 'in training' anymore_, Harry amended. _He was a Death Eater through and through._

But even as his head warned him of the dangers and depicted possible, horrific consequences if he was mistaken, Harry couldn't bring himself to believe the 'through and through' part. Not this brat who had pissed him off endlessly with childish pranks.

"Come on," Harry said as he started walking again. "I promise to explain as soon as we arrive."

Grudgingly, as though it greatly pained him to do so, Malfoy followed him, always a few steps behind so that he was just out of reach.

_Like that would help if someone really wanted to hurt him_, Harry thought with a roll of his eyes skyward.

The sun was not likely to break through the fog today, but after the half hour walk, its rays banged against the clouds hard enough that Harry could see it was morning. Damn, he had promised he'd be back before dawn.

"Keep up, will you? We're going to be late."

"For what?" Malfoy asked quickly.

"A meeting," he answered. "One I've spent months organising."

Harry could tell Malfoy was making an effort not to bombard him with questions, and that bothered him, though he couldn't quite put a finger as to why.

"What's it for?" Malfoy finally gave in and asked just as they neared their destination: a decrepit, overlarge garage that had previously housed fire trucks.

As Harry dislodged the handle of the shuttered door to swing it open, he grinned, "We're going to discuss how to take down Voldemort."

* * *

Panic. Fear. Incredulity.

Those emotions smacked Draco in the face as the door swung back shut behind him. As soon as he noticed there were people staring at them, he schooled his expression.

"I," Draco started then clamped his mouth shut. His unasked questions tended to eat him away inside but he had learned that _asking_ certain questions led to several bouts of the Cruciatus Curse. He had also learned to keep his emotions hidden, but from the amused glance Alec shot his way, he knew the man had noticed the incredulity flashing across his face.

"Don't believe me?"

_Answer when the Dark Lord asks you a question, Draco_.

He took a deep breath as his father's fear-soaked voice wafted into his ears. But this wasn't his Lord.

_Although they both seemed to want him killed_, Draco thought wryly, amused he could joke about his situation and deciding he was going insane.

"I need to go."

This was not what he had imagined after reading those letters. He lived in fear as it was; he didn't need the added worry of treason hanging over his head.

Swinging around, he made for the door, imaging his godfather's flapping black robes as he reached for the door with clammy hands. When it wouldn't budge, he bit his trembling lower lip, and willed his fear to disappear. Wished he didn't feel like a trapped rat, caged by his own choices. Again.

Alec placed a hand on his shoulder and he cringed, shrinking away from the hand. He hated the warmth of that large hand, and the man who owned it and was insistent on latching hope onto his battered heart.

"Let go." Draco demanded, glad his voice didn't sound like a plaintive wail.

Alec did. "I'm giving you a way out."

"You're sending me to the gallows."

"It's the best chance you have."

Draco remained expressionless. There was nothing he could say, and that frustrated him as much as being helpless at the hands of the Dark Lord did.

"What's the catch?"

For a moment there was silence and he almost laughed. Of course there was a catch. Draco was almost relieved. If there was something he had, something they wanted, he could bargain.

"We," Alec glanced at the rest of the group, most of whom, had returned to their previous activities: two played chess, one read, another masked stranger stared at him with unreadable, grey eyes. "need your help."

Draco tightened his grip on the handle. He knew there was no way he could open the door with brute force or escape if they wanted him dead but at least it gave him something to hold onto. "I can't help you. There's nothing I've got that you could want."

Why did his voice sound a touch whiny, damn it. He was over owning everything and needing that kind of admiration. A chill slithered down his spine, wet, reminding him of why disappearing into the surrounding walls was a good thing. While he didn't want himself to sound useless to this Alec character, he knew that this man, who couldn't be much older than him, had no chance against the Dark Lord.

"We don't have an inside man. We thought you could – ,"

"betray the Dark Lord?!" His voice came out louder than he'd intended and silence fell as eyes were drawn to him again.

"You hadn't talked to him?" The owner of the voice and the steel, grey eyes that bore into him, got up from his crouched position and walked over to them.

"I didn't have the chance. You told me not to be late."

"I also told you not to wait until the last minute to get him." The masked man gestured towards him, without bothering to address him by his name.

Draco nudged the door handle again, to no avail.

"Yeah well, getting this bo… um, the 'parcel' last night took longer than expected," Alec answered and Draco felt the sudden tension that had crashed upon the two men at Alec's almost slip-up.

Interesting.

Alec turned to him. "So, Malfoy, I realise –,"

"You're kidding right?" Draco interrupted, knowing where they were going with this. "I'm not going to – ,"

"turn your back on your precious Dark Lord?" The masked man sneered.

For a moment Draco didn't response, then glanced up into the grey eyes that had shocking resemblance to his own and finished his own sentence. " – my parents. I'm not going to turn my back on them."

"I know that Mal-Draco," Alec said, almost gently. "That's why we're asking you."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Because you care, still have the ability to care and love. We need someone who hasn't lost that ability, to help us."

It was a way out. It was his _only_ way out. If he wanted to stop living Hell on earth, he would have to take this chance.

"Don't ask this of me," Draco pleaded. He couldn't do this. Not for them, not for his parents, not for himself.

He was too much of a coward. There was too much uncertainty, too little he knew about this man, and his plan to save the world.

_And for now I am useful to the Dark Lord_, he thought with bitter certainty.

Alec looked at him with pity and disappointment and at that moment, Draco hated him. Hated him with more conviction than he hated the Dark Lord, for giving him a sliver of hope that he couldn't take, for giving him a choice when he never could make the right one.

"I can't do it."

Alec's eyes bore into his for a moment longer, then, with a sigh, he reached out and grasped the handle, pulling the door open until the gate swung high enough that he could pass through without ducking his head.

"Think about it," Alec said. "You know where to find us."

* * *

Three days later, his mother appeared at his door and ushered him to the living room. He didn't need her to tell him, the ashen pallor of her face said it all: the Dark Lord was here.

"Draco, how nice of you to join us."

He nodded woodenly in response. Nails dug into his palm, distracting him from the terror that permeated the very foundation of his childhood home. Without waiting for him to be seated, Nott continued his briefing.

"Harry Potter was last seen at his muggle relatives a few days ago. I assume he is currently with the Weasley brood –,"

"You assume?"

"I…," a tremor shook the older man's voice and he swallowed. "They have a safe house, my Lord. Impossible to track –,"

"Excuses."

No curses being thrown around yet.

_Good sign_, Draco thought, then quickly dismissed that thought as the Dark Lord turned to his father.

"Lucius."

In contrast to Nott who visibly relaxed, his father stiffened.

"There has been no sign of a traitor in the Ministry, my Lord."

The Dark Lord's pressed lips disappeared into a thin line. Draco could see his father's fingers trembling under the table and he knew that only a Malfoy could have stopped that tremor from entering his voice.

He also knew that his father had no good news to offer and his screams would soon rent the air.

"There is traitor in the Ministry, Lucius. Did I not make myself clear when I asked you to find him?"

"Yes my lord, but –,"

"Silence."

Even the wind stilled at his deadly hiss.

"Then how," the Dark Lord said, twirled his wand in his hand, "pray tell, did they know about the raid?"

His father had no answer, and didn't even flinch as the wand pointed between his brows.

"Avada Kedavra."

Draco closed his eyes before he could see the green light encase his father. Without his sight, he could almost imagine that the thud of his father dropping dead was a book falling from a shelf, or the baking tray holding his favourite cookies clattering to the floor, or a chair being pushed aside as his mother congratulated him on his potion's grade.

With the fear-induced silence, he could imagine his mother's gentle laughter, and the stern but amused glance of his father.

Draco opened his eyes at the Dark Lord's voice. "You're the Lord of the House now, Draco. I trust you won't disappoint."

Draco finally found his voice. "Never, my Lord."

* * *

Draco ran.

The last summer rays were too weak to scare away the chilled wind that swept across his cheeks. His ankles protested at his brutal sprint. Only when the garage gate came into view did he stop.

Taking a deep breath, he reached for the handle. Unlocked, the door opened and, with tears flowing unchecked from grim eyes, he faced the man who, for better or for worse, was going to change the world.

"I'm in."


End file.
